I'm Not Alright, But Neither Are You
by IheartSam7
Summary: Dean is pissed. Sam is pissed. They go on a hunt to try and reconnect. It ends up being so much more. Set during and after ELAC but not really following the story of that! Limp Sam! Sick Sam!  Cos what is better than that?
1. It Begins

Disclaimer: I wish I owned SPN. But I don't and all that…

It had been three weeks since "the incident" at Bobby's, as they were now calling it.

Sam had finally gotten the balls to confront Dean about his callous, nonchalant attitude about hell, everything, since the death of their father, and after he did, it sent Dean into an all out postal fit of rage against his beloved baby.

The Impala, the one true love of his life.

And now he was gonna have to fix her all up.

That was all good and well for Dean.

His project.

But Sam was going out of his mind with boredom.

He loved Bobby to death, but he was increasingly becoming easily irritated. If he had to listen to one more story about his childhood, Sam thought _he _was gonna go postal.

As a change of pace from the monotonous, boring daily routine that greeted them, well Sam, every day, Bobby convinced the boys to check out a local haunt, only a couple of hours away.

Bobby promised it would only take a couple of days, but was secretly hoping to bring back that old spark the boys used to have.

Reluctantly, they both agreed and, borrowing one of Bobby's old cars, they headed out in the early evening.

When they finally stopped at the old motel they had found to stay at Dean couldn't help but chuckle.

A huge pink neon sign lit up the parking lot, as window after window of horrible looking seventies flower print curtains surrounded them wherever they glanced.

"Yea, looks like we're back in business, Sammy," Dean smiled, as he went to check them into a room.

Sam just ran his fingers through his hair, and sat on the hood of the old rusty car, wondering what was in store for them the next few days.

The room was just like Sam imagined it would be, old, tacky and smelly.

Ugh.

No matter how long they had been on the road, in cheap motels, he couldn't get used to the smell.

He sat down on one of the beds and could have sworn a plume of dust rose from his sides.

He stifled a cough and looked over at his brother.

Dean was smiling though.

See there were 2 beds, and air conditioning.

All he needed.

Sam lay back and closed his eyes.

It was going to be a long trip.

It started as a tickle in the back of his throat the next morning.

Sam coughed.

"Crappy old air conditioning", Sam thought as he woke in the drab, musty smelling motel room he and Dean were occupying this time.

He swallowed hard, dry dusty particles of recycled air sticking to his throat like fuzz to a lint roller.

Ugh.

He could hear Dean starting to rouse from sleep.

Sam sighed, and rolled over, wishing the day was coming to an end, not just beginning.

"C'mon Princess, up and at 'em", yelled a surprisingly cheerful Dean, as Sam slunk out of bed and walked across the dingy motel carpet to the bathroom.

"You better not take too long in there, we got work to do little brother." Dean was met with a grunt and the slamming of the bathroom door.

"Great," Dean muttered as he grabbed his keys and headed for the door, "looks like someone's gonna need some coffee today."

When Dean got back to the motel, Sam was out of the shower and fully dressed, sitting on the bed with the most vexatious look on his face, a look aimed straight at Dean.

It chilled him to the bone.

Handing Sam a cup of coffee, Dean prayed it was enough of a peace offering to snap him out of his funk, whatever it was this time.

He turned out the door, and much to his delight, although suspiciously quiet, Sam followed right after.

OK so that was the beginning of my first ever SPN story. I just sat and wrote, and hopefully it wasn't too bad. Please be kind and review, I like constructive criticism too!!!!! Thanks for reading. More to come, lots of Sam angst on the agenda 


	2. Sweaty

Sorry so short. It's this or nothin'. More to come later  Thanks for reading!

Dean got in the driver's side of the crappy old van Bobby had lent them. "It smells like old lady in here", he mused to no one in particular, although he was shooting for some sort of reaction from the lump that was his brother crumpled in the passenger seat.

Sam had gotten in the car and was already beyond annoyed. He was sticky and sweaty, and irritated, and didn't want to deal with Dean at all. So he curled up into a ball and put his head between his knees, hoping to send a clear signal to be left alone. He had just gotten out of the shower, not even twenty minutes before, yet felt grimy and gross and well, just not right. He leaned into the window and closed his eyes.

Sam shuddered as he felt a trickle of sweat make its way slowly down his backside and soak into the small of his back, just before it crept any lower. He had three layers on, because back in the frigid arctic of the motel room they were in, he had felt cold, and even now, as he felt the beads of sweat forming across his lip he was chilled.

God he prayed he wasn't getting sick, that was all he needed, but sure as the thought crossed his mind, he began to recognize the familiar dull ache in his throat. Sam inhaled, and as soon as he did, the coughing began, He bolted upright, gasping for breath, and was sent barreling into the side of the door as Dean nearly ran off the road from shock.

Sam was caught off guard, as Dean swerved, and as his head slammed the window, he grunted, and struggled to catch his breath, dry air forcing its way into his constricting lungs. He coughed and wheezed, trying to regain composure, and not freak Dean out in the process.

"Jesus, Sammy what the hell? You ok? Damn, you scared the crap outta me." Dean had pulled over to the side of the road now, placing his hand on Sam's shoulder. He was worried as hell, but didn't want to show it. All he was thinking about was the m-n-m choking incident Sam had in the impala and his nerves were just about shot.


	3. I gotcha Sammy

Thanks to everyone who has read and reviewed. I am still really nervous cos I haven't written fiction like this in so long. I want to thank anyone who loves limp Sam for inspiring me to go forth with this :) Hope you enjoy this chapter-tell me what you think-I love hearing ideas too-and I will be posting more at the weekend.

As soon as he realized they were stopped, Sam threw open the passenger side door and practically catapulted out to the grassy area before him.

He fell down on his knees, hands blindly reaching for the soft earth, as he struggled to regain composure, dry hacking coughs shooting spasms throughout his wiry frame.

Sam couldn't even tell where he was, as tears of agony filled his eyes, making his vision nothing but a watery blur of color.

He blinked furiously, and the tears fell away, sliding down his cheeks only to land like little salt waterfalls on his lips.

He gasped and shuddered, trying so desperately to take a normal breath, while praying silently for this nightmare to be over.

Sam was slightly relieved however, when all of a sudden a warm, soothing voice sounded next to him.

Dean.

"Shhh, I gotcha Sammy."

He had all but forgotten that his big brother was there in the car too; of course he would be here to comfort him, to rescue him…yet again.

As the coughing began to finally cease, Sam turned and sat down on the grass.

He looked over to see Dean handing him a bottle of water, his deep green hazel eyes looking through him, as they so often did, judging, searching, hoping to reach a place Sam had shut away, even to himself.

Sam knew Dean wanted answers, and that he was going to be given the grand interrogation as soon as he was deemed fit.

He sighed, and took in a deep breath, this time thankful it was clean fresh air.

He exhaled and leaned back, closing his eyes, relishing the moment, blocking out the world and all its troubles.

Of course that was not to last long, for as soon as Dean saw that he was okay, he started to rip Sam a new one, his voice alternating between harsh, angry yelling and quiet, admonishing disappointment.

Sam tried to tune him out.

"Why didn't you say anything…could have been so much worse…I swear Sammy…can't believe you…ughhhhh…just as stubborn as Dad."

Dean went on and on until he started to get sick of his own voice.

When he was finally done, Sam smiled, and opened his eyes.

Sam still felt like crap and was sure he looked awful, but it was this type of caring, sharing moment which the Winchester boys didn't have too often that made him smile.

Sam looked over at Dean.

He was as white as a ghost.

Maybe Dean had really been spooked.

Sam felt a twinge of remorse.

"C'mon man, it was just a little coughing attack, I swallowed some dry air, it's no big deal. I mean haven't you ever…"

But Dean wasn't about to hear it.

He abruptly cut off Sam, "If you _ever_ do anything like that again, I swear I'll, I'll…"

"You'll what Dean? Kill me? "

Sam raised his eyebrows.

He stifled a laugh.

Dean just stood up and stormed off to the driver's side of the old van.

Sometimes it was too easy to get Dean all charged up.

Sam knew he had to get up and get back into the car, as much as he dreaded what awaited him, so he slowly started to stand up, the icky, fuzzy sensation in his head getting worse with every second he worked his way up to higher ground.

He finally got in the car and pulled shut the door.

His breathing was under control now, only a faint wheezing sound apparent when he exhaled.

His body was exhausted though.

Sam tried to tell himself that was just a side effect to all of the coughing and hacking he just endured.

He had a strange, unsettling feeling gnawing at his gut, however, that it was really something worse.

Much, much worse.

Please R&R Positive or negative, it fuels my fire and gives me the strength to go on... writing more awesome chapters that is!! Teehee. THANKS!!!!!! 


	4. Food

Dean was in a bad mood. Between Sam's coughing attack

and him nearly stranding them on the side of the road, he

had very little patience left.

He was still concerned about Sam and what had caused him

such a coughing fit though.

Dean drove down the road with a scowl on his face, huffing

his displeasure every few seconds and stealing unnoticed

glares at Sam to make sure he was alright.

Sam, on the other hand, was sprawled out-as much as he

could being a giant-with his legs twisted at an odd angle

trying to stretch forward in the cramped space between the

seat and the front of the van.

He thought that there was supposed to be more room in

these things, as he shifted uncomfortably with his head on

the side of the window.

Sam had thought that he was going to start feeling better

but inside he was beginning to feel more and more

uncomfortable with every passing second.

A think line of sweat formed across his brow and he

brushed it away into his hair with the back of his hand.

Sam felt annoyed at the sensation of the prickly heat on his

forehead clashing with the opposite internal

temperature of his unnaturally chilled body.

It caused a shiver to travel through him to his very core.

Sam tried to ignore it, but he still had a hollow feeling

inside.

"Hey Dean, do you think that we stop somewhere for a bite

to eat? I'm starving."

Sam thought maybe he was hungry, and some food and a

drink would do the trick. Plus, a good greasy burger always

put Dean in a good mood. Maybe he could soften him up

some while they ate.

Much to Sam's delight, a diner was just up ahead, and

Dean pulled in, pretty much still giving Sam the silent

treatment.

They got out of the car and headed in, Sam preparing to ask

Dean more about what this hunt entailed. Once they were

seated in the booth, Sam looked at the menu and tried to

ignore the growling in his stomach and the feeling of

queasiness from the greasy smell that permeated the air.

His plan to open Dean up was working for sure cos he saw

Dean grin at the menu selections, and then look up and grin

at the cute waitress that was approaching.

Maybe he would forgive and forget after all.

Sam looked at the menu again, not a single thing sounded

appetizing yet he knew he had to be hungry, his stomach

churning like mad and he hadn't eaten breakfast that day.

Dean ordered his standard favorite double cheeseburger

loaded with a side of fries and an extra pickle.

Sam went with the turkey and mashed potatoes, and corn

off the cob. Pretty basic, he figured, he couldn't go wrong

with that.


	5. Ch 5

Sorry this is really really short. I wanted to just put a little bit up, to let people know I am still here, and I promise I will deliver more this week :) Thanks for everyone who is sticking with me!!

Please R&R. It fuels the fire within!! Thanks to Emily for helping me get my mojo back!!

Sam didn't realize how incredibly hungry he was until the food arrived at the table.

The heavenly smell of hot turkey and mashed potatoes wafted up through the air and into his nostrils,

making his mouth water and his stomach beg for much needed sustenance.

Sam thanked the waitress as she set his food down on the table, grabbed the pepper and starting shaking it over everything.

He picked up the small gravy bowl and drowned his food with it.

He shoved a bite of mashed potatoes into his mouth, while smothering his corn with butter and savoring the warm flavor on his tongue.

Sam swallowed and instantly felt better, following with a fork full of turkey and gravy.

He couldn't get enough, devouring bite after bite, shoveling fork after fork of turkey and gravy, corn and butter into his mouth, savoring the luscious taste with each bite.

"Mmmmohmahgawd" were all the words Sam could sputter out as he stuffed huge bites of the food into his mouth.

He swallowed quickly, and inhaled a rather large breath, pausing momentarily to mutter, "damn Dean this is seriously good home cookin'."

He was eating like a 4 year old wih no manners.

He didn't care.

The food was so good, and Sam was famished.

Dean just glared at him.

He was also so completely preoccupied with stuffing his face, that he forgot for a minute Dean was still less than thrilled with him.

The minute Sam remembered though, he put his head down.

He was caught off guard, and blushed, not expecting an answer.

Sam continued to inhale giant mouthfuls of food like it was his last meal when Dean spoke.

"Yeah, I guess it is."

Sam almost choked on his turkey.


	6. Chapter 6

Please read and review. It keeps me going…Thanks to everyone and enjoy 

The response from Dean was not much, if anything, but completely unexpected, and as

Sam rushed to finish his jam-packed mouthful of food, his brain started thinking

maybe Dean wasn't so pissed after all, and things were cool between them.

Sam finally finished his bite and looked at Dean, eager to assess the situation at hand.

He was feeling slightly better than he had in the last hour, but still a little off.

He decided to try his luck and prompt Dean to talk more.

"So, what is this, uh, job that Bobby has for us then?"

Dean took the bait and looked up.

"Well, it's kinda complicated" Dean mumbled, and looked back down at his food. 

"And since when has complicated ever stopped us before?" Sam replied with a hint of

cautious optimism.

Dean eyeballed him again, and Sam realized he should probably back down.

Although he wasn't feeling all that much better after his little breathing episode in the car

earlier, Sam wanted desperately to not give away his unsettling feeling to Dean. He

wanted to prove to Dean that he was bringing his whole arsenal with him for this job, and

that he didn't need to be watched and worried over.

'Well it's involving little kids, " Dean responded.

Dean continued, "Its draining the life out of them, somehow."

Sam nodded, narrowing his eyes with the telling sign of deep concentration.

"How many have there been?" Sam asked, as his brain quickly switched into

research mode.

"Well only two so far, but they were on the same street, only 3 houses apart, so it sent up

red flags to Bobby," Dean countered.

"I was thinking we could head over to the street, poke around a little, ask some

questions." Dean looked skeptically at Sam, "that is if you're up to to it."

Sam sighed, "I'm fine Dean, look I told you it was just the air, allergies, or something."

"You never had allergies before, " Dean retorted with a slight look of distrust in his eyes.

Sam was too spent to even try and argue, so he just shrugged his shoulders and looked at

Dean.

"Maybe I'm just tired, but we should get going it's gonna be dark soon."

The last thing Sam wanted was to start a conversation on his current state of health, so he

quickly gulped down the last of his coke, and motioned to the waitress for the check.

When they pulled up to Walnut Grove it looked to them just like any other middle class

suburban neighborhood in the middle of America.

Tree lined driveways with meticulous lawns and basketball hoops at the top of almost

every garage roof.

Nothing spectacular just a carbon copy of one house after the other, thought Sam as he

took a mental inventory of his surroundings.

He was starting to feel lousy, really lousy, and wanted this night over with soon.

Sam brushed a hand over his face, trying to shake the uneasiness he was feeling.

Dean pulled the van over and parked near the first house that had a victim.

They walked up to the door, posing as a couple of special agents to the CDC brought

In to ask some questions that local law enforcement would not think of.

Four hours later and saddled with more information than they ever expected,

Dean and Sam headed back to their motel room.

"You ok little brother?" Dean glanced over at Sam, who was leaning against the window,

head resting in his hand, eyes closed.

Dean was once again in a great mood, having been hit on by not only the cute 18 year old

sister of one of the victims, but also by the mother, which left him feeling completely on

top of his game.

"Yea I'm just tired, Sam mumbled, when really he wanted to scream to Dean that he felt

miserable, like someone had gone full attack mode on his insides and dumped cold water

on his outsides, making him feel as though he was sitting in a tub of ice.

He shivered and luckily Dean, who had just looked back to the road, did not catch it.

Once inside the motel, Sam grabbed his bag and headed into the bathroom to get cleaned

up.


	7. Blackness

His eyes flew open and he inhaled a sharp breath. Were it not for the stabbing plea of

trapped air he felt in his lungs, he might have forgotten to exhale.

He looked at the cheap motel alarm clock on the nightstand and read the time.

3:11 A.M.

The night was still and silent, save the rustling noise coming from the other side of the room.

Sam glanced over at the bed next to him with squinted eyes, and barely made out the

lump of tangled sheets and quilt that was disguised as his older brother.

The lump was moving ever so slightly, as the glimmer of the moonlight shining through

the crack in the curtains let him see.

Dean let out a soft groan as he tried to turn over in his heap of twisted, messed up bedcovers.

He finally settled and after a few moments was as still as the night air again.

Sam breathed a sigh of relief.

His nightmare had been just that, his brother was fine.

But damn did it feel real.

Something was not right- Sam could feel it.

He shivered, and tried to force his eyelids to stay open.

Sam ever so slowly peeled himself out of the sweat soaked, now cold motel sheets and

slinked over to the bathroom without making a sound.

The last thing he wanted to do was draw attention to himself, especially from Dean.

Sam flicked on the bathroom light and gingerly closed the door, his senses still on high alert.

He plugged the drain and as quietly as possible, ran cool water into the sink.

After splashing some onto his face and through his hair, Sam was beginning to feel slightly more at ease.

He glanced at himself in the mirror and was shocked at what he saw looking back.

His face was a sickening shade of pale, almost grey in hue, and he had what looked like

purple bruises under each eye, perfectly crescent shaped, and framing his hazel

eyes, now making them look a brighter shade of greenish blue.

"What the hell," he thought silently.

Sam knew he was running on less than full strength, but his image scared him.

He looked worse than death on a bad day.

As he stared at his reflection, a cold, spine-tingling feeling crept up inside of him.

He had been feeling this way ever since he was startled awake.

But it was getting stronger, sucking the strength from him by the minute.

Sam grabbed the side of the sink for support, as a wave of dizziness and sheer exhaustion came over him.

He shook his head, and tried to focus.

"Damn, why am I so freaking tired?" he mumbled to no one in particular.

He felt like he had had the life sucked out of him, then jammed back in.

His insides were all mixed up, and he felt like a stranger to his own body.

Another wave of exhaustion came over him, forcing his eyes closed, and his body to finally sink into

the blackness that had been silently threatening to consume him all day.

Sam felt his body pitch forward, arms uncontrollably slamming into the sink.

As he fell, all Sam could think was one single thought, and as his body hit the floor with a sickening

thud, head slamming visciously into the side of the porcelain bathtub,, that single thought escaped

his lips, in barely a whisper, just before he blacked out… "Dean."

Thanks for the nice words. Please feed me more… I think I finally found my mojo again.


	8. Sammy?

Thanks for all the kind and helpful words from everyone. It really inspires. Sorry this is

so short -it is a crazy week- so I can't really do more than this right now. Happy

Thanksgiving to all of my fellow Americans, and enjoy!

Please keep R&R-ing. I will hopefully be able to do a longer chapter after the Turkey

Day craziness dies down 

Dean was sleeping peacefully, warm and cozy wrapped up in the blankets, just the way

he liked it. He thought maybe he was in the middle of a wonderful dream, until all of a

sudden he heard a thud.

His eyes shot open, and he frantically tried to adjust them to the lack of light in the

almost pitch black room.

Damn Sam and his need for total darkness when he slept. Not that Dean was afraid or that

bothered by it, but he would rather have a little light emanating from somewhere in case

of a real emergency.

Dean instinctively reached under his pillow for the knife he almost always kept there

these days, as he struggled to untangle himself from the sheets and blankets he had been

ensconced in.

He finally broke free and turned on the small lamp in between the two beds, eyes still

scanning the room in front of him.

Dean gave the room, which wasn't that big to begin with, a once over, and started to

visibly relax a little more as he realized everything was as it should be, but as his eyes

finally came around and reached the bed next to him, all of that changed in

a split second.

He emitted a silent groan when he looked over to the other bed, and didn't see what he

was expecting to see.

There was no Sam in there.

Dean shuddered a little, because Sam, while quite capable of holding his own, had been

acting weird all day, and Dean couldn't help but be a little unnerved by it.

He instantly checked into big brother mode.

OK, so Sam wasn't in bed.

The next obvious place was the bathroom.

Dean glanced over and saw a light coming from under the door.

He relaxed a little, and closed his eyes as he tried to calm his breathing and listen for

Sam.

It was something he had been doing as long as he could remember.

If you close your eyes, you can focus in and your hearing becomes better, his Dad had

once told him.

It probably wasn't a proven fact, but whether or not it was the truth, Dean like to think

that it gave him an edge whenever he was trying to listen for something or someone

making noise.

He strained to listen.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

His stomach flip flopped, as he suddenly got a terrible feeling that all not was right in

there.

"Sam?" Dean called out.

Silence.

"Sam…Sammy…you ok in there?" Dean 's voice carried in the stillness of the quiet

room.

He got no response still, and with that he jumped up off the bed so fast he almost landed

on his face.

Dean walked over to the small bathroom door, knife still in hand, and body still on guard,

ready for whatever he was about to face.

He knocked one time, just a formality really, in case Sam had not heard him the first two

times.

Yea right.

What he really wanted to do was bust the damn door down and find out what the hell was

really going on.

He was in no shape to deal with one of Sam's quiet, drawn-out, emo, pathetic little

brother moods.

Part of him hoped that there really was something in there whose ass he could kick, other

than his little brother of course, so he could get the hell back into bed and get some real

rest.

So when his knock went unanswered, Dean reached for the doorknob and slowly began

to turn it, trying not to make a noise.

He had the handle turned all the way and started to push the door open gently, when it

jammed against something and he could open it no further.

Dean tried to push it open, but when he couldn't, he stuck his head in the crack between

the door and the frame, and his eyes went wide at what he saw.


	9. Chapter 9

Dean tried to push open the door, panic consuming his entire body, adrenaline kicking in

at the sight of Sam prone on the bathroom floor, his long gangly legs tangled in a knot,

and his head lolling from his shoulders at an angle that made Dean cringe in fear.

"Damn it Sam," Dean yelled, as he shoved at the door one last time, quickly squeezing

his body through the crack, not caring as he scraped his shoulder blades on the frame of

the door as he went through.

He was on the floor next to Sam in 3 seconds flat, scanning his body for obvious signs of

distress, all the while mentally taking inventory and trying to figure out what to do next.

Dean couldn't risk moving Sam, as his head hung at an awkward angle, and he could

possibly have a neck or spinal injury, and Dean wasn't even going to go there.

He took a deep breath in, and called out to Sam again. "Sam, wake up… C'mon Sammy."

Nothing. 

"It's Dean, your big brother, c'mon Sam, help me out here," Dean tried.

He was about to grab his cell phone and give in to calling 911 when he heard a low

grumble come from Sam.

"Oh thank God, Sammy," Dean inched closer to his brother. "Can you hear me? Are you

OK? What the hell happened?" He was throwing questions at poor Sam a mile a minute,

desperate to get an answer to not only why Sam was currently lying on the bathroom

floor, but why he had been acting weird all day long.

Sam managed to slowly pick his head up, shifting his legs so that they could stretch out

across the floor when Dean saw it. There was a gash on the side of Sam's head and his

hair was all matted with blood, which continued to drip slowly down the side of Sam's

face as he tried to sit up.

"Sam, your head, it's bleeding pretty bad." Dean instinctively went to reach for his

brother's face when Sam suddenly lurched forward and vomited what seemed like 3

weeks worth of meager lunch into his lap, groaning and closing his eyes, fighting against

the pain and sickness that was consuming him.


End file.
